


To Be Human

by through_shadows_falling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff and Angst, Human Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Nightmares, Season 8, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3096359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel closed his eyes as an Angel of the Lord, and opened them as nothing more than a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Human

**Author's Note:**

> I was recently inspired to look back at some of the pieces I began writing for Supernatural a while ago, and I stumbled across this one that I started during Season 8. All it needed was an ending! 
> 
> Ah, good ole bunker fics! 
> 
> Enjoy! There are several more where this came from!

Castiel closed his eyes as an Angel of the Lord, and opened them as nothing more than a man. A mortal. A _human_.

The first thing that struck him was the quiet. There was no static from Heaven, which had been audible to him even turned low. It had been such a constant presence in his time on Earth that he hadn’t been aware of it, the perpetual buzzing, the electricity pulsing through him even weakened. It had been a reminder of the power he was so carefully muting to fit into his vessel, an energy that had felt trapped, too tight, too constricting in human flesh. It had almost driven him mad, wanting to let it escape, wanting to let it burst out of him. In the beginning, he had even felt an irrational urge to return to Heaven, to be full with his being and full with his power again.

But then he rebelled, and he had learned to control this impulse. For what was he but thousands of years’ worth of training in control, in patience and vigilance, in putting others’ needs ahead of his own? Tamping down the instinct to regain his own flesh had been as easy as a thought.

Or it had been.

Now, he was lying on a bed under blankets, staring at the gray slab of a ceiling, and it struck him, suddenly, that he couldn’t feel the Heavenly energy coursing through him, and he couldn’t hear his brothers and sisters. It felt _wrong_. And he couldn’t bury the feeling this time. It crushed him as he shifted, slowly testing his new body. This body that had been Jimmy’s, but no longer.

For a moment, the engulfing terror of _wrongness_ left him as Castiel felt a stab of remorse, hoping the faithful man had found peace in what was left of Heaven. Jimmy had been loyal, had sacrificed everything, and Castiel found himself mouthing a prayer for Jimmy’s sake even though he didn’t know who he was praying to, and he didn’t know what he believed anymore.

What he did know was that in this life, as a mortal, Castiel would someday die. He didn’t entertain the notion that he would be granted access to Heaven, but he knew that before his death, he would do everything in his power to make it up to Jimmy.

It was the least he could do, now that Castiel wore his face. Permanently.

As he recommenced wriggling his toes and flexing his fingers, Castiel was overwhelmed by continued _wrongness._ This was _his_ body now, but it felt so ungainly, as if his power as an angel had stretched it so wide it would never fit him right, so there would always be extra space, a looseness that slipped around him when he sat up. All at once he was aware of his chest rising and falling, the huffs of his own breaths, and somewhere in the ceiling a low thrumming that spoke of ventilation. It was comforting, hearing sounds again, and as Castiel brought his fingers up to feel his own heartbeat, he was amazed at the life inside him. Blood was pumping through his veins, neurons were firing in his brain, millions and millions of cells were growing and dying, and here he was, somehow alive in the middle of it all.

Here. How could it be just here? Here, where his heart now drummed in his chest, where he had reached in and ripped out his Grace. Falling had been excruciating, yet easier than he thought it would be, for he had done it on Earth and hadn’t risked the plummeting that Anna experienced. Perhaps he had been secretly hoping that, once this body was rid of its angelic parasite, Jimmy would reclaim it.

But selfishly, Castiel knew he did it on Earth because of the Winchesters. He had wanted the best possible odds of survival, so he could live the remainder of a mortal life with them. His friends. His family.

They had been there in the end. The trigger of memory sent Castiel reeling. Somehow they had found him, even though he warned them to stay away. But they had always been frustratingly persistent, and when Castiel had ripped into his own soul with his blade, had been unable to bite back the unearthly screech of his voice, he remembered the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, past the searing haze of white light.

The two man-shaped forms had hovered at the edge of the fallen trees, just outside of the area where it all began when the angel Castiel deposited Dean’s remade form in a pine box. It was oddly serendipitous, and as the Winchesters had waited for him, Castiel had felt such a surge of…what was it? Love, perhaps? Fondness? Even though they would most likely witness his true and final death, he was doing this _for_ them. He was tired of being controlled, of failing over and over again, of being singled out for hatred despite his best intentions. This time, he wanted to make his own decision, make his own fate as Dean had taught him, and it was fitting that they were there.

Glancing at them, hoping, impossibly, that they could see his face and sense his willingness, he took the last plunge, that last tearing and shredding of the piece of him he was ready to leave behind for all eternity. His mind had blanked out from the pain, his eyes blind from the light pouring out of him, his ears deaf but to the roaring of wind and the sound of his own screams. The burning, then, had claimed him, and he felt his vessel shriveling in the heat, crackling and flaking as it was obliterated from within.

Then Castiel had known no more.

It should not have surprised him that he awoke without a scratch, for it certainly wasn’t the first time he had been spared, though he still couldn’t fathom the reason why. He had meant for this to be his last rebellion, his last act of freedom, even though a small part of him had hoped it wasn’t the end. Perhaps his Father had felt this tiny hope within him, and had granted Castiel yet another chance to redeem himself. It was still somehow cruel, this miraculous resurrection. But now Castiel was being selfish again, and if he had been connected with his brothers and sisters, he knew they would’ve taunted him for yielding to human egotism. He should have known he couldn’t rest until his debt was repaid, for all of those he had deprived of second chances. So many angels, so many humans…

The weight of his burden crashed onto him, and Castiel fell back against his pillow, curling into himself as he clutched at his head. Why? Why him? Why was he so special? He had done so much wrong…perhaps this was his punishment, then, to live a mortal life and face Death at every turn.

But how could it be a punishment if this was what he wanted?

The sound of voices and footsteps echoed from outside what he abruptly noticed was an open door, and Castiel went with his first instinct. Drawing back the covers over himself, he lay on his back and pretended to be asleep. He could feel someone standing in the doorway, and when the person sighed, he knew it was Dean.

“Damnit, Cas,” Dean whispered, and Castiel felt wrong, lying to him, but as he reminded himself, it wasn’t the first time.

When Dean finally left, and Castiel could hear him speaking with Sam, he finally sat up again to try to figure out where he was. The room was a dimly lit square of blank cement walls, so small it barely accommodated the only piece of furniture in it, which was the bed. It smelled dank, stale, and Castiel could tell it had only recently been re-opened and hastily tidied since dust particles still hung in the air, marveling him as he watched them float and shiver to the undulation of his breaths.

It had to be the bunker, the former home of the Men of Letters, especially with the way the sound bounced hollowly, sealed away from the natural world. If he was in here, it meant he was truly human, for this place was so strongly warded against the supernatural that he had not even been able to sense it.   

As Castiel sat up again, he saw that he was wearing ill-fitted clothes similar to those from the mental hospital that had carried over into Purgatory. They felt starchy, unfamiliar, as did the blankets and sheets which were rough against his skin as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed to his feet. The floor was instantly cold, and Castiel looked down to see that he was barefoot. As he did so, his neck tickled with scratchiness, and he realized he was growing a beard. Bringing up his hands to it, he felt that it wasn’t as long as the one Purgatory, but it was still thick, and that made him wonder just how long he had been in that bed.

With the shakiness of his legs as he clutched the doorframe and peered down the darkened hallway, Castiel guessed at least a week or two. What a step backward from Purgatory, and how his muscles had become taut with the constant readiness of fight or flight. Here, he was the opposite, like a newborn foal, unsteady, lurching, as he stumbled down the hallway, feeling that odd disconnect between himself and his body. On the right was an open doorway into a bathroom, and he veered into it to get a good look at himself and the way he would remain for the rest of his life.

Flipping on the light switch, the man in the mirror stared back at him with blue eyes, no longer startling in their intensity, but dulled by human life. His hair was mussed, his face haggard. The stubble on his chin and down his neck was splotchy, uneven, and as he ran his hands over the offending bristles, the sensation on his fingertips amazed him. His mouth opened in awe for a moment, and then he put his hand down and stared hard into his own eyes. It seemed impossible that there was nothing there, nothing deeper hinting at what he truly was, what he truly had been. There was nothing but a tired man staring back at him, a tired human who was, abruptly, hungry. His stomach rumbled, and when he swallowed, his mouth and throat felt dry. It was the first time outside of Famine’s influence that he was affected by such basic human needs, and Castiel gripped the sides of the sink, trying to quell conflicted feelings of wonder and panic.

This was it. There was no returning. No going back to Heaven. No reclaiming his true form. The last thought tore through him, and he felt such a yearning that he nearly collapsed to the floor.

This was why Anna had plummeted to Earth, had chosen to destroy her very essence so she would be reborn as an innocent and unknowing human. The memories of his true flesh and blood were too devastating, knowing he would never get them back. Even though he had gotten used to this form, he had been comforted by the knowledge that someday, somehow, he would get his true body back. But now, he would have to live with this _wrongness_. It had been his choice, but he hadn’t known it would be so shattering, the helpless longing so unbearable that he wanted to rip out of this skin and let the red blood of this human body drain onto the floor just so he could be free.

It was a few moments before Castiel was able to regain control of himself. As he did, he was embarrassed that the man in the mirror had wetness on his face, and his eyes were puffy red and his nose was leaking mucus. Sniffing, he nearly choked on the buildup of phlegm, and instinctively coughed it up into the sink, noticing that he was trembling. He breathed deeply, eyeing his own spittle as the fascinating thing that it was, wondering at how his body had known what to do and how to cry and was already transforming itself back to its normal state, as if the tears had never happened. It was so unbelievably human, standing there, just breathing away the sadness and pain, and since waking up, Castiel felt a different kind of longing. He didn’t want to experience this alone. He wanted to be with his family.

After his body reset itself, he fumbled toward the sound of voices. With the way they echoed, he envisioned a large room with the kind of high, vaulted ceiling that humans had been building for millennia. The Men of Letters were no different, and he paused just outside the arched doorway leading into a fantastic library. Dean and Sam were sitting two seats apart at a long table, Sam with his laptop open and Dean tossing around some papers.

“So what, we just aren’t gonna look for it?” Dean was asking.

The way Sam rolled his eyes, Castiel could only assume this was a conversation they had had several times before.

“Dean, look for _what_? It _exploded._ You’re still missing part of your eyebrow! There’s nothing to look _for_.”

“But what if he needs it to wake up? It’s been three weeks. That can’t be normal.”

“What about this whole thing is normal? Come on, Dean, it’s Cas. Out of anyone, he has a pretty solid track record of coming back from the dead.” When Dean didn’t answer, Sam continued, “Look, he was breathing the last time you checked, right? I’m sure he’ll wake up at some point. And when he does, we’ll figure out what to do. You’re just going stir-crazy.”

“So what if I am? It’s not like you’re even looking for jobs,” Dean shot back.

“I’m trying to digitize some of this stuff. Don’t you get how important it could be, for hunters now and in the future?”

"All I hear is nerd,” Dean said, earning him a face from Sam.

“Um, last time I checked, you’re the one who enjoyed LARPing with Charlie. You _led_ the charge.”

“Oh shut it,” he said, but without much energy. Instead, he sighed and put his forehead on the table. Sam gave Dean a sympathetic look that Dean couldn’t see.

“He’s gonna be fine, Dean.”

As the brothers lapsed into silence, Castiel felt that warmth in him again, filling him with happiness that his family cared about him enough to worry. He couldn’t drag on their suffering any further, especially since he didn’t deserve it.  

“Hello Dean, Sam,” he croaked as he entered the room. Dean’s head shot up and Sam’s eyes widened as Castiel massaged his throat, trying to correct his voice.

“Cas!” Dean said, jumping up from his chair to approach Castiel, who suddenly felt lightheaded. Gentle hands steered him into a chair, and then the Winchesters were hovering over him. Even though he was no longer an angel, he could feel their energy pulsing in alternating currents of excitement and fear.

“Cas, hey man, how do you feel?” Sam asked, and Castiel frowned, wondering how to respond.

“Strange,” he said at last.

“Strange good, or strange bad?” Dean asked, a fearful edge to his voice that made Castiel smile a little, wanting to comfort him.

“Strange good,” he said, and Dean grinned back, slapping him on the arm.

“You are one lucky sonuvabitch! We thought you were a goner after you went all supernova. Man, you freaking singed our eyebrows off!”

“I did warn you,” Castiel said, and Dean just made a face.

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like we were just gonna let you go all Radioactive Man alone.”

Castiel gave him an appreciative look, a faint smile on his lips as he thought how lucky indeed he was, to have such loyal companions. When Sam cleared his throat, Castiel realized he was staring, and blinked up at the taller brother.

“Can I…Can I get you anything?” Sam asked him. “Are you…hungry? Thirsty?”

Castiel was thoughtful. “Both. I am…hungry and thirsty.”

Sam hesitated. “So…does that mean…?”

“Yes. I am mortal. Jimmy is gone, so this is my body until my inevitable death.”

“So you’ve got no mojo, nothing?” Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head.

“No, nothing. I am completely…human.”

There was stunned silence and then Dean blew out a long breath.

“Damn. Man, I’m sorry.”

Castiel squinted at him. “Sorry? Why?”

Dean let out a harsh laugh. “Why? Because it’s not like… _this_ ,” he gestured to their current situation, “is that fantastic. Being jerked around by the God Squad while you’re trying to gank the bitches from downstairs? Not exactly the most fun life.”

“But this is what I wanted,” Castiel said, causing both brothers to be silent. Castiel sighed. “If I have learned anything, it is that no life is perfect. But if I had to choose, and I did, I would choose to stay here with you. Hunting things. Saving people.”

Dean was still unconvinced as he shook his head. “We haven’t done a lot of that lately.”

“But you have. And you still try.”

Now Sam was smiling sadly. “It’s never enough.” Inhaling a breath, he shook himself. “But, well, that’s great that you finally got what you wanted. Come on, Dean, let’s not ruin it for him. If he wants to enjoy humanity, let him.”

Sam’s attempt at lightheartedness rubbed off, and Dean brightened as he stood up. “Alright, alright. I mean, there _are_ perks. I don’t think you’ve had one of my burgers yet.”

Sam made an exaggerated drooling noise and Dean grinned at him before turning to Castiel.

“See? They’re orgasmic.”

Sam’s face crunched together. “Ugh, why’d you have to say that? That just sounds gross.”

“Hey, no dissing the chef or you’ll never get another burger in your life. Come on, Cas, let me make you something.”

Castiel was lifted and supported by the Winchesters as they brought him to the kitchen and deposited him on a stool. Then Sam was beside him, rambling on about his plans to be a Man of Letters as Castiel was entranced by Dean, chopping up vegetables and squeezing together meat patties and making things sizzle. He was mesmerized by the simple preparation of food, which he realized he had never fully appreciated before, not having to eat. And with the delicious smells wafting in the air and his stomach rumbling, Castiel felt himself begin to salivate in anticipation. It was such a basic human need, at the core of it a necessity for survival, but it felt…comforting, to be surrounded by his family as they cooked together and then sat down at the kitchen table to eat.

Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes raking over him as he went in for the first bite, and as the burger hit his taste buds and exploded with flavor, he let out a _very_ human noise.

“See? Orgasmic,” Dean said proudly, and Castiel closed his eyes to enjoy it, astounded at the sensations and not realizing that he was being laughed at until the burger was gone and his eyes were open. Dean and Sam were staring at him, laughing behind their hands, and Castiel felt embarrassed that he had lost control. He grabbed a napkin and politely swiped away some juice dribbling down his chin, annoyed when it got caught in his partially-formed beard.

“Do you have another?” Castiel said after downing a glass of water. He caught Sam exchanging pleased faces with Dean, and felt that glow of happiness again.

“Man, it’s great having you here,” Sam said, as Dean went to the counter to fix Castiel another burger. “We weren’t sure how much you’d remember. I mean, all we know is what happened to Anna.”

Castiel frowned. “Yes. I did it differently. Though the results are the same.” He raised his head to meet first Sam’s and then Dean’s eyes. “The angels will be after me. More so than Anna, because of…what I did. It’s urgent that they don’t find me. They will not hesitate to destroy anyone who gets in their way.”

“Yeah, we get it, Cas,” Dean said, sliding another plate in front of Castiel as he took his seat. “We figured as much. And that’s why we brought you here, after, you know, we found out you hadn’t been blown to smithereens. This place is angel-proof, right?”

“And I have a theory,” Sam added. “You know, with Anna, as she was Falling, she and her Grace got separated and landed somewhere else, right? So the angels knew she was still alive somewhere, because it was intact. But…we were there when you Fell, and we saw what happened. Cas, your Grace exploded. Like, everywhere. It’s gone. You know, maybe the angels will see that and think you’re really dead this time.”

Castiel’s brows knit together. “I suppose that is possible. But they will still seek my soul. Though, I suppose they will not care if they don’t find it, since they’ll assume it went to Hell and they’re not working with Crowley to verify it.”

“Hell?” Dean spoke up after a few moments of silence. “You think you’re going to Hell after all this?”

“Well…naturally,” Castiel said, confused. “Crowley certainly won’t allow any different, once he discovers what happened.”

“Well, we won’t let that happen,” Dean said, taking a furious bite of his burger.

“Yeah, we won’t,” Sam agreed, and Castiel looked back and forth between them.

“But it’s because of me that Sam experienced Hell. I broke the wall—”

“Which I was already starting to chip at,” Sam interrupted. “I would’ve broken it eventually and it could’ve been worse. A lot worse. And you made up for it. You fixed it. You took it on yourself.”

“And don’t forget that you pulled my sorry ass outta Hell in the first place,” Dean said. When Castiel started to protest, Dean spoke over him. “No, you’re not going to Hell. One outta three _not_ going to Hell is the best odds we’re going to get at this table. Now shut up and eat.”

Castiel mulled over the conversation as he ate the rest of his second burger. Though the taste wasn’t as startling this time, it was still delicious, and despite his best intentions, he couldn’t help but lick his fingers when it was gone. When he glanced up, he caught Dean’s satisfied smile.

“Thank you,” Castiel said after a moment, and he hoped they understood that it wasn’t just for the food. Their forgiveness, their gestures toward saving his soul…it meant everything to him, even though he knew it wasn’t in their power to stop him from atoning for his sins and going where he belonged.

Dean coughed gruffly. “Yeah. Right. Well. We won’t have to worry for a while. Because we’re all going to be old before we die. Eh, Sammy?”

Sam looked at Dean, shocked, and then a wide smile broke out on his face. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly. So let’s just…take it easy. Maybe take a break for a while. Teach Cas how to defend himself—”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Castiel said, and Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Without your mojo? Last I checked you weren’t so good with firearms.”

“I can fight.”

“And guns come in handy to save your ass in a pinch. Once you’re settled, I’m teaching you how to fight like a real hunter.”

At Castiel’s pout, Sam cut in, “We’ll let you settle in for now. Get used to things. Don’t worry about it yet.”

Castiel heaved a sigh, relenting when he realized they were just trying to protect him. If he intended to be of any use, that did mean he should brush up on some unfamiliar methods. And that also meant he should take time to adjust to this body, hopefully fill in those empty spaces. It would be unwise to rush into anything yet. He sighed again.

Later that night, after spending the day touring the bunker with Sam and Dean, Castiel returned to the bathroom nearest his room. As it turned out, Dean’s room was just a little further down the hall on the left, so they had to share the bathroom. Behind the mirror were Dean’s toiletries, and Castiel gazed at the razor, wondering how best to proceed. It was impolite to use someone else’s property without their permission, so he didn’t touch it. He was startled when a voice broke him out of his reverie.

“Hey, whaddaya need?”

He closed the mirror to see Dean behind him in an odd role reversal. He turned to face him.

“A razor of some kind. I would like to shave,” he said.

Dean quirked a grin. “Not a fan of peach fuzz? Worked in Purgatory.”

“That’s because I didn’t have time to stop and shave, Dean,” Castiel said as if that were obvious. Dean huffed a chuckle.

“Right. We’ll have to go shopping tomorrow. And…new clothes, too. Sam found those asylum rags in storage. There was a whole bunch of ‘em. Kinda disturbing, but…we didn’t know what else… I mean, after you went nuclear you were… You needed clothes,” Dean said, his face flushing, and Castiel nodded.

“I see. Thank you. These are…appropriate.” For some reason, thinking of the Winchesters dressing him was odd. He ignored the thought as he nodded again, understanding why they went with the easiest option. Though that did pose the question of how long he had been naked before they got him back to the bunker. Quickly, he dispelled the thought as unimportant and far too human to deal with at the moment. He was here now, and would be for quite some time. At least, he hoped so.

“Are you sure it would be wise, venturing out?”

Dean leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “Sure, why not? You need stuff. There’s a cool mall nearby. You’ll get a kick out of it.”

“But the angels—”

“They didn’t find Anna when she was human, right? And thanks to you, they can’t find me or Sam. So I think we’re good. And if not, we’ve got some angel blades stashed somewhere around here.”

Castiel took a moment to process this, at first recognizing that the logic was sound even though he hated putting his friends in jeopardy for his sake.

But then it occurred to him that he was unable to protect them as he had before, and all at once a feeling that had been needling him all day rushed into him, making him wary of this entire situation as if it were a trap. Was it just him, or did something seem off? He hadn’t wanted it to let it interfere with the unusually cheerful and upbeat attitudes of the Winchesters, as it was so rare to see them happy that he had let their infectious mood affect him.

But something…was wrong. It had to be.

Namely, why had he been allowed to live? Why had he been allowed to get what he wanted most – his freedom?

It seemed too perfect. Was someone messing with his mind again? Because Sam was still dying from the trials, and Dean…Castiel had very nearly killed Dean not too long ago on Naomi’s bidding. There was no way they should’ve been this happy at his return, not after everything they had been through. And yet it was Dean, whose death Castiel had delivered until there were cascading piles of bodies, the very same Dean, whose begging Castiel had learned to ignore until it was almost too late, who was now looking at him in concern.

“Cas? Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t make sense. This can’t…be happening,” Castiel said as he sank to the floor. Was it possible this was another form of Naomi’s torture? Just thinking about it forced his hands to his head, curling protectively around his now very human skull and brain. This was just like her. It was perfect. Just enough normalcy to feel authentic, and enough Winchester to appeal to him. She was probably drilling into him right now…

Dean was kneeling in front of him, trying to pry his hands away from his head.

“Cas, Cas! Can you hear me? What’s wrong? Talk to me, man!”

“This can’t be real,” Castiel shouted, and Dean glared at him.

“Oh no, you ain’t catching the crazy again. Cas, listen to me, you’re here, now, and it’s real. I know it might not be what you expected but—”

“No, Dean, you don’t understand. It’s too perfect. It’s too…happy!”

Dean looked flabbergasted. “What? I thought…you wanted this?”

“Yes, that’s my point!” Castiel said, seizing Dean’s wrists. “That’s my point. I got what I wanted!”

Dean’s face slowly transformed into disbelief. “Wait…so you think that, because you’re happy, this can’t be real?” Castiel nodded emphatically, and Dean made a noise. “Man, that’s messed up. Not that I can’t say I don’t know how you feel but… But…this is _really_ happening. Remember what you told me, when we first met? Good things _do_ happen.”

Castiel stared at Dean. Was it possible this _was_ real? Because as deep as Naomi had dug into his head, extracting every memory Castiel had had with Dean, there was no way she could’ve replicated the feeling in Dean’s voice, the way it tremored slightly, the way his eyes were boring into Castiel’s, willing him to believe. She had never perfected her copies to this level, this vibrant feeling of Dean’s _there-_ ness. Castiel let his shoulders slump, still struggling with doubt, but if he were honest with himself, even if this was a punishment, he would rather face it just to have these moments with Dean and Sam over and over again.

“Good things _do_ happen,” Dean repeated, and Castiel marveled at how far his friend had come from the broken shell of a man he had once been. “Cas, are you okay?”

Castiel gently extricated his hands from Dean’s wrists and nodded slowly.

“Yes. I apologize. I believe you.”

Dean sighed and sat back. “She did a number on your head, dude.”

“Yes. She did.”

They shared a comfortable silence for a moment, before Dean spoke again.

“So what’s it like, being in a meat suit for real? I mean…how much do you remember, from before?”

Castiel heard his unspoken question even around his fumbling – Dean’s desire to know just how much of the real Castiel was left in this human body.  He was thoughtful for a moment as he tried to reflect on his past, before he was allowed on Earth with the assignment to raise Dean from perdition. With a start, Castiel realized that his memories were there, but blurred, lacking, stretching back so unimaginably far that a spike of pain lanced through his head and he winced.

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself,” Dean said, trying for mirth as he blindly reached forward, though Castiel barely registered his voice.

It was gone, too. Castiel’s past, everything he had done, all that he had seen, all that he had been… It was there, but so limited by his human brain and memory that it was as good as gone. Again came the crashing realization of what mortality meant, the absolutely finite scope of his existence and the knowledge that it would never be more than this, that he had given up eternity for _this_.

Castiel came back to himself and felt wetness on his face again. Dean had scooted closer to him, a mere inch away but not touching, and was now struggling with himself, a battle that manifested in his arm hovering in the air over Castiel’s shoulder. Finally, he seemed to overcome his discomfort and gently set down his hand. As Castiel felt Dean’s warmth radiate through him, how strongly Dean wanted to make things better, he forced himself to clamp down on his traitorous body, halting the tears and giving one last sniffle. He took it from the way Dean held himself stiffly that crying was awkward, embarrassing, and Castiel felt a flush of shame.

“I apologize,” he said gruffly, overwhelmed by how quickly his body cycled through emotions.

Dean patted Castiel’s shoulder and then withdrew his hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You gave up everything. _Everything_. I can’t even imagine…” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Not everything,” Castiel said, and something happened when he and Dean locked eyes. It wasn’t like before, when he had felt their bond thrum with his power, even as strained and crumbling as it was in the end. Now, staring at Dean, Castiel could feel the bond, but it was different. It was tenuous, weaker, and lopsided, yet it made warmth spread in his body like what he had felt in that moment before he Fell. Love. The emotion his Father cherished above all others, an emotion which now coiled deep in Castiel’s abdomen and pulsed through him so strongly it was like his whole body tingled. The strength of it terrified him.

So this is what his Father had created. Love. As an angel, love was like breathing, but as a human…love took his breath away. It made Castiel want to fill himself on the feeling, as mysterious and frightening as it was, and it was then he had a moment of pure clarity.

Yes, he would always mourn his past. He would always mourn his true self, and everything he had left behind.

But if he could live as one of his Father’s favorite creations, celebrating the joy and love that had never felt so raw and _real_ before, then Castiel could very well live with this life.

Even though he didn’t deserve it.

“Cas?” Dean was saying, looking genuinely afraid, and Castiel inhaled and exhaled deeply, before letting his lips pull into a small smile.

“I’m alright. I’m sorry. I was…overcome for a moment. I am still new to the spectrum of human emotions.”

Dean chuckled weakly. “Yeah, yeah, I get that…” He glanced away awkwardly.

“Tomorrow, you must teach me how to hunt. Properly.”

Dean glanced at him, shocked at the sudden determination in Castiel’s tone. “Are you sure? No offense, but I’m not so sure you’re stable enough to handle a gun. Safely. Without accidentally killing someone.”

Castiel shot him a baleful look. “Dean, there must be a reason I’m here. My Father must want me to save people, to make up for what I did—”

“Oh don’t give me that crap again!”

“It is _not_ crap,” Castiel said, offended.

“But it is! You don’t think eleven freaking months in Purgatory was enough?” When Castiel didn’t answer, Dean plowed on, “No? Then how much is enough? When will you be fully atoned, huh? Because the last time I checked, you can try your damnedest to do everything to help people, but shit can still hit the fan and screw it all up. Man, all you can do is just _live_. There’s no point in doing anything else if you just get yourself killed in the process! Get it?”

Castiel frowned, but before he could say anything, Dean continued.

“Take it from me. You don’t think I tried to make up for what I did in Hell? Because I did, I really did, but you know what? It doesn’t matter in the end. How can saving one soul make up for what happened to another? Here’s the big secret: it doesn’t. It can’t. You can’t change what happened. You just gotta move on. Do the best you can.”

Castiel gazed at Dean, at the righteous man who had endured so much, and he felt love again, this time clenching his heart. He knew, intuitively, that the love he felt for Dean was different, but in this moment, he just wanted Dean to know and understand how proud Castiel was of him, how happy he was that Dean was finally healing.

“You are a wise man, Dean Winchester,” he said, and Dean glanced at him and let his lips quirk wryly.

“Yeah. Sure I am.”

“You are. I am…glad you are here. And even though you went against my warning, I was glad that you were there when I Fell. It is selfish of me, but I wanted to survive. To be with you.”

“And Sam,” Dean said quickly, and Castiel tilted his head.

“Yes, and Sam,” he added with a bit of hesitation. He was flooded with sadness when Dean pushed himself to his feet.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I’m uh…going to bed. We’ll talk about tomorrow when we get there. Night.”

With that, he was gone in a rush of air, leaving Castiel on the bathroom floor, trying to sort through his complicated feelings. When he at last got to his feet, a strange sensation confused him and he turned to the toilet. Sighing in resignation, Castiel smiled fleetingly. If this wasn’t proof that he was fully human, he didn’t know what was.

A few minutes later, as he crawled back into his bed, he lay staring at the ceiling, marveling at how difficult his life had become so quickly. Only that morning he had been able to hear the soft sounds of his own breathing and the hum of the pipes. But now, his mind was clamoring for attention, processing all that had happened today and exhausting him with the endless deluge of questions about what to feel, or what to think, or what to do next. Each situation had its own emotion to go with it, and Castiel wondered how humans were able to turn the barrage off and slip into the comfort of sleep. Though, to be honest, he was a little nervous of what sleep meant. He wasn’t used to being so completely vulnerable, and he was concerned at how sleep actually worked. What he witnessed, when he used to watch the Winchesters, was a switch getting flipped, turning consciousness into unconsciousness. Still, Castiel felt curiosity tugging at him, and if it weren’t so late, he would’ve searched out one of the brothers to ask just what sleep felt like, as silly as it was.

Castiel eventually closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. Before he knew it, he found himself in the bathroom, staring at the mirror, though there was something wrong with his reflection. Blackness began to ooze out of the corners of his eyes, and there was a hideous smile on his face that he knew wasn’t his own. Recoiling backwards, he bumped into a woman, Daphne, who embraced him and kissed him even as he felt the black goo swell in his throat and drip from his mouth, choking him, smothering his pitiful attempts at calling for help. He gasped on the floor as Daphne cradled him in her lap, but then it wasn’t Daphne, and Naomi was eyeing him coldly, raising the drill, and there corpses stretched out forever, all of them Dean, all of them bleeding and bruised and broken, and Naomi was smiling.

“Congratulations, Castiel. You have finally redeemed yourself,” she said, and at his feet was the real Dean. He knew because he could see the man’s soul reflected in his eyes as Dean’s hands twitched toward him, pleading, and then went slack. Next to his body appeared another corpse, Sam, who was cursing Castiel to the depths of Hell even as he died, willing Castiel to burn for what he did to Dean when they trusted him, _loved_ him and—

Castiel sat bolt upright, inhaling a huge lungful of air. His whole body was taut, quivering, and he felt sticky with sweat. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he understood that it had only been a dream, a nightmare. But even as he told himself this, he flung back the blankets and got to his feet, surging toward Dean’s room with his chest close to bursting.

Dean’s door was cracked, and as Castiel pushed inside, he could barely make out a huddled form in bed, a chest rising and falling with gentle breaths, and even though Castiel hated his limited perception, he could still feel that it was Dean and that he was alive and well. Castiel crumbled to the floor in relief as Dean stirred.

“Sam?” he asked groggily, propping himself up, and Castiel didn’t trust himself to respond. He felt ragged, knew his voice would betray him, so he stayed quiet, wishing he could still watch Dean without him being aware of Castiel’s presence like he had done so many times before. But he was human now, and just as he could sense Dean, he knew Dean could sense him and he wouldn’t be able to hide.

“Cas?” Dean tried again, more alert, and the sheets rustled as he reached out and clicked on a lamp beside his bed.

Castiel hated Dean’s pitying expression when Dean saw him bunched on the floor, no doubt looking as disheveled and exhausted as he felt.

“Shit, Cas, are you okay man?”

And Castiel still couldn’t answer. The shame at appearing so weak in front of Dean, who had lived through so much, was enough to make Castiel force himself to his feet.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he mumbled, veering for the door.

“Cas, wait, what’s wrong?”

“It was nothing,” Castiel said, not looking at Dean. He could feel Dean’s eyes on his back as he shuffled out of the room, and then abruptly turned toward the kitchen. He didn’t want to return to his room and try to sleep. He knew it would be impossible, and he didn’t relish the idea of those images plaguing him again. Especially because Dean didn’t know half of what Naomi had done to him, had made him turn into. Castiel clutched at his chest, hating the weakness of his mortal flesh as it continued to tremble. He felt thirsty, hungry, sweaty, and he needed to defecate. There was so much self-maintenance required, being human. In Purgatory he had lived with the filth and the pain to spare his power, but the moment he returned to the Winchesters he had restored his previous purity. Now, he wished more than ever that it could be simple again. At least as an angel, even a broken one, he hadn’t had to worry about his flesh and blood. Now, his bodily needs, coupled with his volatile emotions, threatened to destroy his sanity, which he had only just retrieved.

Castiel bit back the urge to whine and release his feelings through physical violence, even though he wanted so badly to punch something, kick something, rip something apart with his bare hands. He was startled at his own ferocity in the face of utter helplessness, and shame flooded him again, consumed him. He understood, suddenly, why humans behaved the way they did, and was amazed that so many of them could retain control. Castiel was acting like a child. Self-loathing roiled through him, so strong that he let out a whimper.

No, this wouldn’t do. He couldn’t let himself fall apart so soon after reawakening. He needed to…to find a way to deal. What would Dean do? And as he thought of it, Castiel remembered the bitter taste of alcohol, and wondered if that would work for him. As an angel he had imbibed copious amounts of the foul stuff, and it had still barely affected him. As a man, perhaps it wouldn’t take much to drown his feelings…

Without thinking, his feet brought him to the library, where the Winchesters had proudly shown him their well-stocked liquor cabinet earlier. Castiel’s fingers itched for the smooth glass and the easy way Dean held it in his hand, sipping with a calm Castiel envied. He knew that these substances were dangerous, harmful to his body, but he couldn’t help but give in, knowing he was already too weak to stop himself.

Except, when he came into the library, there was Sam hunched over the table, snoring into his arms with an open book between them. Seeing him sleeping so peacefully made Castiel ache, and he figured it was Dean’s influence that he now regarded Sam with a similar brotherly fondness. Sam had always been one to hope, to dream, and though he was equally damaged, Castiel could still sense his true spirit within him. It was smaller than he would’ve liked, but it was there, and it was radiating the kind, forgiving nature of Sam, making Castiel’s shame spike even higher.

As he approached the table, just regarding Sam, the younger Winchester flinched and then sat up with a gasp, rubbing his eyes blearily as he took in his surroundings. When his gaze fell on Castiel, he frowned.

“Cas? What’re you…” he trailed off, apparently noticing something familiar in Castiel’s expression. “Couldn’t sleep?” His sympathetic smile made Castiel nod miserably despite himself, and when Sam jerked his head at the chair beside him, Castiel fell into it wearily.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, for lack of anything else to say.

“For what?”

“For disrupting your sleep,” he said, having heard from Dean’s gentle chiding during their impromptu dinner that Sam wasn’t resting enough to recover. Guilt washed through him and Castiel ducked his head.

“Yeah, well, it’s fine. I was getting a crick in my neck anyways,” Sam said, grimacing as he stretched and massaged his neck.

“I’m sorry I can’t help,” Castiel said, thinking that, if only he were an angel, he could soothe Sam’s aching muscles and help him sleep.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “I’m used to it.” He stared at Castiel, who couldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s up?” After a moment of silence, he added, “Bad dream?”

When Castiel finally looked up, he was sad to see Sam’s knowing expression, and he remembered just how familiar the younger Winchester was with horrific visions and nightmares.

“Yes,” Castiel said, abruptly too tired to lie. He hated how easy it was to pretend, to deceive in this flesh, and how much more difficult it was to acknowledge the truth. He was ashamed that he had already abused this ability with Dean, when all Dean wanted to do was help him.

Sam nodded and then leaned forward to clap a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I know how that is. It’s gonna be okay. And for the record, everything always seems worse at night. You’ll see.”

Castiel was surprised at Sam’s positive attitude even though the trials were doing him in and his face was haggard. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “How can you be so optimistic with all that has happened?”

At that, Sam gained a thoughtful expression, crinkling his already drooping eyes. “I guess… You just gotta take the good things when they come. Me and Dean…we’re happy you’re here.” He heaved a breath. “We don’t have many friends left, so it’s good to know that you’ll be around, you know?” He shook his head, grinning tiredly. “Man, you shoulda seen Dean. He was driving like a maniac after you told us you were going to Fall.”

“I _told_ you not to come,” Castiel repeated belatedly.

“Yeah, well...” Sam shrugged. “It was pretty amazing though. From what I could see. I mean, there were spots in my vision for at least a week after.”

Castiel was surprised Sam had been able to see anything at all. He remembered how his true form had blinded that poor woman the Winchesters knew… Then again, he hadn’t exactly been in his true form when he Fell.

“My true form will be obliterated,” Castiel said suddenly, making Sam jerk.

“What?”

“I left it behind. The host of Heaven will destroy it, every last piece. There will be nothing that remains of me. My name will be stricken from record, become blasphemous to say. They will never stop hunting me.”

Sam blinked. “Wow. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“Well aren’t you a ball of fluffy sunshine?” came Dean’s voice, and Castiel and Sam turned to see Dean padding into the room in his bathrobe, two steaming mugs in his hand. As he set one in front of Castiel, he said, “Sorry, Sammy. I didn’t realize you were still awake.”

“Oh, it’s cool,” Sam said, yawning. “I just kinda passed out.”

Castiel watched Dean’s face as he viewed his younger brother worriedly, but Sam had backed out of the chair and was marking the places in his books.

“Find anything?” Dean asked him, and Sam sighed wearily.

“I don’t even know. I think I read that last sentence twenty times before I fell asleep.”

Dean winced. “Go to sleep, Sasquatch. Even big hairy monsters need their rest.”

Sam made a rude gesture but complied as he shuffled out of the room toward the opposite hallway. Once he disappeared around the corner, Castiel inspected the mug Dean had placed before him.

“It’s tea. Decaf. Thought you’d be more into it than coffee,” Dean said, as Castiel sniffed at it.

“What kind?” he asked, as his nose filled with a sweet smell.

“I dunno… Chamomile or some crap like that? It’s supposed to help you sleep.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Castiel went in for a sip, and nearly spit it everywhere.

“Dude, you gotta wait till it cools down! Blow on it or something!” Dean said in amusement as Castiel felt his tongue swell unpleasantly. He grimaced and then glared at Dean, who was chuckling softly. “Sometimes I forget…” His grin faded as he took in Castiel’s appearance. “What you were saying, about your true form…”

Castiel sighed, abruptly exhausted as his shoulders slumped. “It’s fine. It was my choice.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

Dean sat down beside him, and they remained in companionable silence for a long moment, letting their drinks cool before sipping at them delicately. Castiel had burned his tongue, so it felt strange to have liquids running over it, but he knew the muscle would heal. In fact, his body was already working to repair the damage, replace it with new cells and new taste buds that would return it to normal.

How marvelous the human body was.

“How do you live with the nightmares?” Castiel said at last, and Dean sighed.

“I dunno. I’ve tried a lot of different things but nothing really works 100%. Except time, I guess.”

Castiel glanced over at him. “What about physical comfort?”

Dean blinked. “Physical comfort?”

Castiel swallowed. “As in sharing a bed. I know that I felt very much at peace when I shared my bed with Daphne.”

Dean made a face at her name, but his expression quickly became stricken. “I…uh, I mean…”

“Have you tried it?”

Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Not really, no. I mean, most people left early and I never…”

“We could try it.”

Dean stiffened, his mouth opening but no sound emerging. His jaw worked for a few seconds, but then he snapped his mouth shut and nodded briskly. “Yeah. We could,” he said quickly, and Castiel noticed a flush creeping up the side of his neck, turning his ears red.

“Okay,” Castiel said, and they were quiet again as they finished their drinks. The hot tea settled warm and pleasant in his stomach, making him feel content and sleepy. When they had both drained their mugs, Castiel followed Dean to the kitchen to put them in the sink, and then trailed after him toward his room.

Castiel had inspected it earlier, during his tour when Dean showed it off so proudly. Castiel knew that Dean had never had a home, and this was his first chance to really settle in and make something permanent for himself. The room he had set up was a reflection of him, and Castiel was immediately comforted.

The right side of his large bed – Memory Foam, as Dean had declared – was rustled where Dean had been sleeping, leaving the left still tucked in and neat. Castiel looked to Dean for confirmation that it was alright, and after a nod, Castiel pulled back the covers and shimmied underneath, curling onto his right side and closing his eyes. There was lingering warmth there, plus the heady smell of male musk and the undeniable mix that was pure Dean. Castiel breathed it all in, feeling a strong sense of calm settle into his bones as he sank deeper into the mattress. He must’ve made a pleased sound because there was a chuckle accompanying the dip of the bed as Dean crawled onto his side.

“Awesome, right? Motels will never be good enough again,” Dean said, slipping under the covers. His foot accidentally brushed the back of Castiel’s calf, bare since his pants had ridden up. Castiel felt Dean tense, but he only had enough energy to muster a soothing hum, letting Dean know it was fine. Dean spent a few moments shifting and then when it was silent, he whispered, “You good, Cas?”

Castiel hummed again. “’s nice,” he slurred. Dean huffed out an amused breath and was quiet. Castiel felt tendrils of sleep tugging at him, and thought Dean was drifting off until he spoke again.

“Hey Cas?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I…?” Dean let the words drop, vying for action instead as he scooted over to Castiel and draped an arm around his waist, tucking himself into Castiel’s back, his nose poking Castiel’s neck. “Is this okay?”

Castiel didn’t think he could get more comfortable, and subconsciously snuggled closer to Dean, burrowing back into him, letting Dean’s warmth seep through his whole being. Dean tightened his hold, and maybe it was Castiel’s imagination, but he felt what seemed like a quick press of lips to his neck.

“Let’s keep those nightmares away, huh?” Dean breathed, and Castiel sighed, relaxing into Dean’s arms and finally relinquishing himself to sleep.

Castiel didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how his mortal life would play out, or if he’d even get a Heaven in the end, but he did know that, despite all the ups and downs and trials and tribulations of being human, there was no place he’d rather be.   

  


End file.
